


put sugar on my tongue

by radiodurans



Category: Talking Heads (Band)
Genre: Blowjobs, David Byrne’s Inexplicable Twink Energy, General 1970s Horny Energy, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Self-Exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24395659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiodurans/pseuds/radiodurans
Summary: David’s in New York City for a year before he gets up the nerve to go to Rooster Bar.
Relationships: David Byrne/Original Male Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	put sugar on my tongue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vaguelybritishme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaguelybritishme/gifts).



> This one goes out to one of my favorite people in the entire world who has been dying to read a “David Byrne goes to a gay bar” fic and has been disappointed it does not exist. I love you more than most people and I hope you love this.

David’s in New York City for a year before he gets up the nerve to go to Rooster Bar. It’s just down the block from one of their regular haunts, a real dive with no sign on the door that’s so nondescript only Tina has bothered to learn the name. In between sets, David stands in the alley, smokes cheap cigarettes, and watches a steady stream of men enter and exit the other bar. He usually has a hard time with faces, but he knows the regulars who visit Rooster Bar after their shows. The dark-haired short one with the blonde boyfriend and the red-haired cokehead who copies his dance moves precisely as if they’re the most important thing in the world. They whisper passwords to each other on the way out and David has them all memorized.

_Sausage._

_Leather._

_Dorothy._

_Judy._

_Zucchini._

On and on, a strange language that David rolls across his tongue like a secret. Tonight, the password is _hanky_ which he supposes must be related to the bandanas his regulars wear inside of their back pockets. There’s a certain giddiness he feels in understanding this terrifying world. For once, he understands a conversational code that other people don’t.

He decides to slip off striking the stage early since he only has a guitar and their lone crew member, Peter (?), has a key to the front door of his apartment complex. Before he leaves, he reminds Peter (?) of the exact place outside his door he needs to put the guitar approximately ten times. Once he feels satisfied that the guitar will be placed almost-properly outside of his door, he disappears into the chilly night.

David lurks several feet away from the building until there are no other men in line outside. Then, he walks up to the hole in the wall where he knows other men reveal their secrets.

“H-hanky,” he says in a shaky voice. A voice inside grunts in agreement and opens the door to let him inside.

It’s much warmer inside the bar than it is outside. Before David even gets a look around, he strips off his jacket and overshirt and hangs them on his arm. He untucks his ribbed tank top from his jeans for a more casual look. When he looks up, he finds that several large men are staring at him with expressions he doesn’t totally understand. If their staring indicates any sort of interest, well – _God. Women_ who find him sexually attractive don’t look at him like _that_.

He feels very small, so he sits down at a table that’s clearly undesirable due to its proximity to the bathroom. David is happy to find that the table has hooks underneath it for his coat – the thought of sharing a coat rack with strangers is loathsome. He likes to know a guy before their clothes touch for a few hours. Wining and dining is a prerequisite for bringing home someone else’s lice.

Taking _off_ his clothes, on the other hand –

Well, sometimes the wining is enough for that one.

He doesn’t have to wait very long for a man to try. Someone brings him a drink from the bar and points in the general direction of a burly white man in a leather jacket.

“That’s Alan. He says the drink is on him,” says the bartender. He leaves with a little swish before David can say anything in return. David mourns his company a little as he takes the first sip of his drink. The only man he ever – in college –

He never saw what _the only man he ever_ looked like with the lights on. However, his general shape looked more like the bartender than any of the men who seem to want a piece of him now. Perhaps it’s best that the bartender doesn’t seem to want to talk. He doesn’t need to get in his own head about _the only man he ever_ and a good way to do that is to try and flirt with a man who looks nothing like him.

David gives a small wave to Alan. Alan sees it out of the corner of his eye and pulls away from his conversation. He walks over to David’s table with heavy footsteps and sits down. A shiver runs down David’s spine when he feels the heat radiating off of Alan’s thick body. He taps his fingernails on his glass to ground himself and gives Alan a small smile.

“Hi,” says David.

“‘Lo,” says Alan in a gruff voice. “Haven’t seen you here before.”

“Haven’t been here before,” says David. His voice doesn’t shake, which is rare when he’s this nervous. The adrenaline of being here is more akin to when he’s onstage than when he’s chatting with a stranger who’s just bought him a drink. Alan smiles at him in a way that gives him frustratingly little information. David’s heart sinks into his stomach at the thought that the gay world may actually be as difficult to decode as the straight one after all. Then, Alan grabs his wrist in a way that is _very_ not-ambiguous.

“Let’s go dance upstairs, stranger,” he says. Alan pulls him to his feet after David responds with a breathless _yes_ and leads him up a rickety staircase to a poorly-lit dance floor packed with bodies. The heat and human of it all threatens to overwhelm David as a scratchy 45 of _Money Money Money_ starts playing at top volume. Then, Alan pulls him closer and grinds against David’s leg. All of David’s focus immediately redirects to the hot erection throbbing against his thigh. _Fuck_ – he’s _really_ doing this.

David allows Alan to lead, flopping his arms over Alan’s shoulder and pulling him closer. Alan smells like leather and musk and _man_. He grinds as close as he can, shameless, as though he’s trying to imprint the smell of his sweat and the roughness of his skin into every pore of his body. David isn’t drunk but he wants to do something dangerous anyway. He wants to wake up the next morning knowing that he’s made a mistake.

Four songs later and David is hard up for it. He’s dripping with sweat, painfully hard, and panting like he’s gone for a run. Alan pulls him into a side room and closes the door behind them. The lights are dim, but not off, so David can see more than just the general shape of Alan as he strips. Alan is hairier than he’ll ever be, with a thick carpet covering his chest and a bushy nest of pubes. He helps David take off his clothes, kissing his face and neck all the while. David doesn’t know what else to do other than take whatever he’s given which Alan seems to like just fine. Soon enough, both of them are totally naked. Alan pulls him over to the leather couch in the center of the room and sits both of them down. When he kisses David, it’s much gentler than David expects.

“What kind of experience are you looking for?” asks Alan. David, who hadn’t truly expected to get this far, is taken aback by the question. He’s really not even sure what gay guys _do_ outside of pose naked in magazines and, somehow, engage in sodomy. David and _the only man he ever_ spent about fifteen minutes furiously kissing and then rubbed off on each other’s legs. Presumably, that’s not the kind of experience _Alan_ is looking for. Still, David isn’t really sure he’d like to be _sodomized_ his first time in a gay bar. One step at a time.

Alan rubs his leg sensually, which keeps David’s cock nice and hard. He decides to hazard a guess that gay guys do the same kind of foreplay that straight people do.

“Can I give you a blowjob?” he says. When Alan says yes, it’s not exactly a surprise. David doesn’t have sex much, but the few blowjobs he’s had in his life have been great. He tries to remember what made all of those blowjobs so great as he sinks to eye level with Alan’s huge cock. _Enthusiasm and confidence_ , he thinks, so he gets to work with that sort of attitude in mind.

David’s pushes Alan’s legs wider so that he can slot neatly between them. He licks his own hand as he does when he gives himself a handjob and gives Alan some warm-up strokes. Alan responds with a few low moans which sends a shiver up David’s spine. Whatever makes Alan make those sounds – David wants to do _that._

He doesn’t reach out for Alan’s cock with a tentative lick. Instead, he takes the cock in his mouth as deep as he can and suctions his mouth against it. _There –_ that noise again. David sucks his cock that way several more times, relishing the way Alan groans. Alan rubs the back of David’s neck with his thick fingers. Saliva drips down David’s chin, thick enough to choke on, so he pulls off to give a hard swallow and wipe his chin against Alan’s inner thigh. He doesn’t let up stroking on Alan’s cock though as he regains composure. Alan is egging him on with praise – _you’re so pretty_ and _you look so good_ and _fuck fuck yes right there so perfect_ and he wants to do everything that keeps making Alan say those blunt, wonderful words.

David rubs Alan’s cock against his cheek with an open mouth. His own cock is throbbing, so he looks up at Alan and starts stroking himself. It’s hard work, those next rough licks, but it’s worth it for the way Alan grips David’s hair and _pulls_.

“Fuck my throat,” says David in a broken voice he’s never heard before. He puts his whole mouth over Alan’s cock and doesn’t move. Alan grunts, rears back, and thrusts hard into David’s face. David floats a little above himself at the searing pain in his cheeks. Being used allows him to thrust into his own hand more vigorously. Arousal mixes with adrenaline; sweat and tears roll down his face. Tomorrow he’s going to have a light burn on the side of his cheek from the rub of Alan’s rough pubic hair against his smooth face.

Alan cums seconds before he does, shooting a hot load right down his throat. David can’t swallow it all, so some of it leaks out of his mouth when Alan pulls out. His throat still feels clogged when he chokes out a breath and cums into his own hand. He feels messy, alight, _alive_. Every sticky, nagging thought is banished from his brain; all that matters is pleasure and pain.

Still breathing heavily, Alan hands him a handful of tissues. David looks at the mess in front of him and on him. Now that he’s come down from the high, David’s analytical brain can rev into high gear again. His cooling cum fills him with a wave of shame. Every ugly word he’s ever heard about _these people_ rings in his ears as he wipes up the floor and himself. David tosses the trash in the receptacle and gets dressed without looking Alan in the face. He thinks, _this man doesn’t even know my name_ and then _I’m not going to give him the chance to learn it._

David slinks out of the room and down the stairs and out of the bar and into the street. New York City greets him like a living thing – the rumble of the 1 train under a grate and the burned-out streetlamps and a sputtering neon “OPEN” sign in the window of every bar. He checks his watch for the time but doesn’t take it in. The subway will take him home no matter what time it is, and he has nowhere to be in the morning. Nevertheless, he hustles away from the bar. It’s cold and the closest train stop is ten minutes away in this part of the city. The longer he’s out, the more opportunity his neighbors have to mess with the guitar that _should be_ standing outside of his front door at home.

It’s not until he’s shivering a few blocks away that he realizes he’s forgotten his jacket.


End file.
